


Lips Like Blood

by theangelhastheimpala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Demon Bela Talbot, Dubious Consent, F/F, Fucked Up, Hell Fic, Knifeplay, Seriously guys this is fucked up, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2157249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangelhastheimpala/pseuds/theangelhastheimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo went to hell. No one expected it. Least of all Bela Talbot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lips Like Blood

**Author's Note:**

> This is sick and twisted and honestly if you're triggered easily by...anything...proceed with caution. 
> 
> Supernatural isn't mine, as is evidenced by the trail of dead women.

Jo went to hell. 

No one expected it. She was still the little blonde girl in pigtails to everyone, regardless of how many knives she had. But she'd pissed off the devil himself, and that's a surefire way to get dragged down. 

There was screaming. That was the first thing she remembered. It took two days--if you could call them days, wrapped up in eternal darkness like they were--before she realized that the voice was her own. 

So that was why her throat was so raw. So that was why the voice was calling out for her mom, her dad, even Dean if he could hear her from down here.

It took another day before her mind was put together enough to realize that this was hell. That this was forever. That she was doomed. 

Hell for her was a dark, tight box. Claustrophobia. Isolation. Clawing at the roof until her fingers bled, knowing she was well and truly alone. Physical pain she could have handled. It was part of the job. Hell wasn’t part of any job she could imagine.

She spent a year in the dark and the cold and the loneliness before they brought her to the rack. Her soul looked as mussed up as her mind was. Hair in a rat's nest, dirt and blood smeared on her face, fingernails bent back or gone completely. Specters of darkness and blood and shame carried her to the rack, tied her limbs splayed out. She fought against the bonds, but they were too tight. 

"Pretty little thing, aren't you?" an accented voice said. A woman. Somehow she'd expected it to be a man. That was how it always was in movies when someone got tortured. Not a woman, black eyes flashing, smirk plastered firmly on her lips. And pretty was the last word she'd expected to hear. 

"Jo Harvelle," the demon said. "Little hunter girl, calling for your mommy. Didn't have enough fight to do it on your own, did you? Mommy can't hear you down here." 

Jo spat in her face. 

The woman gave a genuine smile. Or as genuine as any demon could give.

"You've got spirit after all," she said. Her lips were a little too red. It didn't look quite right against her face, like they were smeared with blood. Maybe they were, for all she knew. "I like that." 

She picked up a knife, and Jo started screaming again. Babbling, begging her to stay away. They could skin you down here, flay you open and bring you back again and again, for all eternity. 

The demon’s smile faded as the she brought the knife to her chest 

"I'm sorry, little hunter." It was a whisper, like she was afraid someone would hear. They likely didn't take well to sympathy here. "It's what I have to do." 

Jo barely felt the knife as it traced down her skin, leaving trails of blood behind it. She wondered absentmindedly how a spirit could bleed. 

"That's enough for one day," the demon said, finally. After what seemed like an eternity. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

She leaned over and left a kiss on Jo's lips that burned, that tasted like blood. Jo couldn't bring herself to care. No one had kissed her in far too long. Touched her, even. She ached for any kind of human contact. Even the demon would do. 

                                                            #####

The next day came all too soon. 

"Back for more, little hunter?"

"Not as if I had a choice." Jo prided herself on her ability to be sarcastic even when faced with imminent disembowelment. 

“You could be screaming again. It’s such a pain when they scream.”

“I’m tougher stuff than you’re used to.” Jo set her jaw, tried to hide how her chin wobbled.

“Care to explain yesterday, then?”

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Jo said. “You could just…stop.”

“You don’t want me to stop,” the demon said. Her smile had fangs. “Beelzebub would be far less kind. He likes pretty little things like you.”

And then there was the knife again. It was better than the darkness. Even as it stabbed through her, cutting her entrails, clacking against bone as Jo squeezed her eyes shut. Jo whispered a prayer. To Castiel, to anyone.

“Your angels can’t hear you down here, Joanna Beth. Only I can.”

The demon’s kiss lingered longer this time, her tongue tracing along Jo’s bottom lip. Jo didn’t know darkness had a taste until now.

“Bela,” the demon said.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s the name you’ll be screaming.”

And Jo didn’t even know how to interpret that, didn’t know how to take the flirtation as the demon wiped her entrails off her knife.

“I think I’ll take your eyelids next time,” Bela said absentmindedly as Jo was taken away. “Make you watch me work. It’s beautiful, you know.”

                                                            #####

“Bela Talbot,” Jo said. “You’re Bela Talbot.”

“Depends on who’s asking.”

“I know you.” Jo laughed on a short, harsh breath. “I know you. You came through the Roadhouse, stole a curse box outta Jim Harrison’s truck and put it up on the black market. Mom was pissed as hell.”

And it was almost like being back on the surface, finding someone she knew down here, even if that someone was readying a scalpel to slice away the skin from her eyeballs.

“You still kiss like you did then,” Jo said. “I thought…I thought you were beautiful.”

“You still kiss like a kid.”

Bela. Pressed her up against the wall of the back room, groped at her breasts, her ass, questing fingers slipping inside her bra and making Jo gasp into her mouth. It was a lifetime ago, was a thousand lifetimes ago. She didn’t look like the same person, even. Her skin wasn’t so pale then, her lips so red. Her eyes were green and her hair was dirty blonde and she didn’t smell like the grave. Memories ran different down here. They took work to call up when all you knew was sulfur and burning and night.

“You stole my wallet,” Jo said. “They’d told me you were more than a petty thief.”

“We’re all petty in the end, doll. Sooner you learn that, the better.”

Bela didn’t take her eyelids after all, drew spirals on her skin with the edge of a razor blade instead. Jo watched anyway. Bela was right. It was beautiful.

                                                            #####

Jo learned to crave the pain, learned to wait for Bela to call for her. It probably should have bothered her that she was getting preferential treatment. She knew Bela hurt people, really hurt them. That was her job. That was how she didn’t get erased from existence. With Jo, she was as likely to kiss as to cut, as likely to caress her skin as she was to rip it to ribbons. And she didn’t understand it. In the same moment, Bela had pressed their lips together and ripped out Jo’s beating heart, and yet Jo still found herself waiting.

Jo started to wonder what would happen if she were freed from her bonds. If she took the knife. If she’d stab Bela through the heart, or if she’d make art on her skin. She’d look beautiful in red.  

Bela chuckled the first time it happened, the first time Jo made the choice.

“What?”

“You’re becoming like me, sweet.”

“I’ll never.”

“We’re the same, little one. We look just alike if you knife us down to the bone.” She punctuated the statement with a twist of her wrist, a snap of Jo’s arm. Jo hissed as the bone broke. “You’ll join me, soon enough.”

And there was something very wrong in Jo’s chest because that didn’t sound so bad.

                                                            #####

There was screaming one night, after Bela had chased her knife with her lips, after Jo had sobbed as much with pleasure as with pain. Jo recognized the voice.

Bela didn’t look at her the next day, just readied the blades and the vices. She moved stiffly, mechanically. There was no edge of pleasure this time. Just a knife to the gut. Again, and again, and again. No smile. Just methodical precision as she peeled Jo down to the core, one layer at a time. It wasn’t the physical pain that was the worst. It was Bela’s silence.

“They found you out, didn’t they?”

Bela didn’t even flinch.

“You broke their rules.” It was a statement. “Demons don’t go easy on anyone.”

“You were a tasty little morsel,” Bela said. It was monotone. “It was just a game. Make you think there’s someone down here on your side. No one’s ever on your side, Joanna. Trust no one, little hunter.” Her voice broke.

“Demons aren’t supposed to love, are they?”

“We can’t.” Bela turned away, her shirt riding up with the motion. Deep gashes sliced across her stomach, the marks of mammoth claws.

“Hellhounds,” Jo said. Bela didn’t contradict her. “You turned into what they wanted and they gave you to the hellhounds again.”

“Stop.”

And it was a testament to how fucked up she was that she didn’t know if she was angry that someone had hurt Bela, that someone had slid inside her mind and played with her fears, or if she was upset that someone had hurt Bela who wasn’t her.

“I’ll kill them,” Jo said. “I’ll claw my way off this rack if it’s the last thing I do, and I’ll feed them to their own dogs.”

Bela looked at her in wonderment.

“And then I’ll mark you up good,” Jo said. “Carve my name into your back, make sure nobody ever hurts you but me. Make sure everyone knows who you belong to.”

And there was the grin, as Jo slipped to the ground.

“You did it,” Bela said. “You’re one of us now.”

Jo picked up a knife.

                                                            #####

Crowley never knew what hit him.

**Author's Note:**

> Smut coming soon? Probably.


End file.
